


More helpful than all wisdom

by alt3r3go



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Smarm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alt3r3go/pseuds/alt3r3go
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you get hit in the fight?" Banner asks, calm and professional as his eases Rogers back down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More helpful than all wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=15254532#t15254532) on the Avengers kinkmeme.

"You've got, uh," Banner says vaguely and points at his own chin.

Tony swipes at his beard with a balled up napkin halfheartedly, pita crumbs trailing all over his t-shirt. The three of them are the only ones left: Thor went to check up on Loki and Barton and Romanoff have limped off to whatever it is slightly battered assassins and triple-agents do after an alien invasion that wasn't. Tony's fading quickly, adrenaline giving way to an amazing amount of _fuck-that-hurts_ , and Banner's nodding off into his shawarma. Rogers, at the other end of the table, looks mostly asleep already.

Clearly, it's Tony's turn to seize the initiative. Again. He drags himself out of his chair, mostly by sheer willpower, and pokes Banner in the shoulder. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time to say good-bye to the other kids and pick up your toys. There's a bed with your name on it at my place."

Banner looks away. "Thanks, but I don't want to—"

"You aren't," Tony cuts him off, too tired and achy for this kind of bullshit. "Save the drama for tomorrow, all right?"

Banner's lips twist in a small smile. "All right." He looks past Tony at Rogers, who looks as if his elbow on the table is the only thing keeping him somewhat vertical. "Steve, where are you staying?"

Rogers blinks up at him like he just woke up, which is actually pretty likely. "Uh, SHIELD, I guess? I, there's…" he trails off, blinking.

Tony sighs. He _hates_ having to be the responsible adult. "Come on, Cap, we'll get you a car from my place."

Rogers nods and gets up. Or at least tries to, because a couple of inches in he freezes, his face abruptly draining of color, and stays there, half out of his chair and bent over the table.

Before Tony can as much as blink, Banner is at Rogers' side and peering down into his face, looking spooked and wide awake. "Steve, what's wrong?"

Rogers' face is glistening with sweat now and he presses a hand to his side, still under the table. "I didn't, didn't think it was so bad, but…"

"Did you get hit in the fight?" Banner asks, calm and professional as his eases Rogers back down. Tony envies him the calm; the fresh surge of adrenaline is making his heart pound.

At Rogers' shaky nod Tony steps forward and crouches to the left of his chair, reaching into his pocket for the ever-present multitool. The fabric of Rogers' uniform parts surprisingly easily under the blade: it's barely even reinforced. Tony makes a mental note to design something in Kevlar or an equivalent as he pushes it out of the way. He hisses through his teeth as the sight of the ugly bruised burn across half of Rogers' stomach.

"Concussive and thermal both," Banner mutters, trailing his fingers just above Rogers' skin. "Steve, you need to get checked out for internal bleeding."

Tony looks up into the broken windows and the rubble outside. "Yeah, no, there's no way an ambulance can get through that. We need to get him to the helipad; it's just a couple of blocks."

Banner purses his lips but nods, looking up into Rogers' face. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Yeah, I," Rogers tries to take a deep breath and winces. "I'll be fine. I heal fast."

"Sure, yeah, 'tis but a scratch and you've had worse," Tony cuts in with an eye roll. "Come on, Rogers; let's get you out of here."

They have to hold him up as they leave. Rogers is swaying on his feet despite Tony pulling his right arm around his own shoulders and taking as much of his weight as his own protesting back will allow. Banner trails behind them carrying Rogers' shield and yeah, nobody ever wrote songs about _this_ part of the superhero business.

Outside there's dust and sirens and trails of smoke above the darkening skyline. Tony grits his teeth and takes a little more of Rogers' weight, swearing under his breath.

Banner seems to sense the direction of his thoughts. "Emergency services are going to be tied up tonight."

"I've got things down in one of the labs," Tony grunts. "Ultrasound, x-ray, whatever."

"I don't, I don't need," Rogers tries to say before settling on a weak, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, sunshine, there's a difference between 'not actively dying' and 'fine'," Tony grits out, "take my word for it. Now shut up and walk."

They make it to the tower eventually and Tony would cry in relief as they stumble into the lobby if he'd had any breath left. The elevators are working, wonder of wonders; all praise Tony's engineering skills and independent power supplies. Clean energy, it's where it's at.

Tony deposits Rogers on an exam table in the med lab and swallows some painkillers while Banner is setting up the equipment and cleaning the wound. His head is buzzing and his back is killing him, not to mention the various aches and pains from a little thing like, say, having fallen from another dimension. He gets most of his breath back while Banner works, though, and the pills kick in at some point, which is pure bliss.

"What's the verdict, doc?" he asks when Banner gets up and strips his gloves.

Banner purses his lips. "As far as I can tell there's some heavy bruising but no outright internal damage, but I'm not exactly—"

"It's not so bad," Rogers says hoarsely. He's blinking in the bright light. Catching sight of Tony's expression he grimaces and amends, "it won't be so bad tomorrow. I do heal fast."

Banner sighs and takes off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Tony, as much as I hate to say this, the hospitals are going to be full of people in far worse condition tonight. We can just as easily keep an eye on him here."

Tony is really too tired to deal with this shit, so he closes his eyes and asks, "JARVIS, can you watch his vitals?"

"Certainly, sir," JARVIS replies and Tony is too wiped to even grin at the way Rogers starts at the unexpected voice.

"Great, thanks. Get Doctor Banner to tell you what to look for and show him to a spare bedroom. Rogers will be bunking with me." Rogers and Banner both look like they want to protest so he waves a hand to shut them up. "Rogers, your virtue is safe; I couldn't get it up with a crane right now. Somebody needs to keep an eye on you and my bed is biggest, so can we all just get some damn sleep before we pass out right here, please and thank you?"

Rogers is wincing and Banner is stifling something that looks suspiciously like a smile, but they stop talking back. It still takes too long to get Rogers to the master bedroom and stripped to his tighty whities and Tony is swaying on his feet as he makes a last detour to the kitchen after waving Banner towards one of the guest suites.

Even in all his super soldier glory Rogers looks ridiculously small and young in Tony's custom-sized bed. The kid is what, barely over twenty-five? Tony sighs as he crawls into bed next to him and passes him the ice pack he's retrieved from the fridge.

Rogers hisses as he presses it to his stomach but goes quiet when Tony pulls the covers up and kills the light. In the dark his voice sounds small and shaky as he says, "Tony… thank you."

"You're very welcome in my bed, gorgeous," Tony says with a leer but he's so tired and his pillow is so soft and he is going to be so sore in the morning it's not even funny, but morning is still hours away.

Rogers' breath is still uneven, though, and Tony abruptly remembers that the kid was only defrosted weeks ago and alien invasions on top of PTSD are just barrels of fun. As he knows from very personal experience.

Aw hell, what happens under covers in the dark stays under covers in the dark, right? He reaches out to touch Rogers' hand first, then puts his palm flat on Rogers' stomach, careful not to touch the wound.

Super soldiers do not cry in the dark, so the sound next to him is not a stifled sob. Genius billionaire playboy philanthropists don't cuddle for comfort in the dark, either, so he definitely doesn't inch closer and stroke Rogers' – Steve's – stomach and side until his breathing evens out and Tony can follow him into sleep. 


End file.
